Uncle
by Silvers45
Summary: Sixteen years of solid dislike, Harry had told me once, and even just that took me so long to get out of him. Took me so long to get him to trust. I'm sorry for you, Vernon Dursley. [Vernon's funeral.]


**Disclaimer:** _I do not own any of the Harry Potter series or any of its characters or plot._

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**Uncle**

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So you're him.

Of course, it's not like I know you, really know you apart from what Harry said. By all means, I don't have a right to be here. You must be furious, having a witch and wizard at your funeral, though I'm not sure you're the kind of person who would believe in an afterlife, so how could you be furious? But I couldn't let Harry come here alone. He's facing his demons by coming here, seeing you, somehow. Facing his demons and letting them go, destroying them.

To be very honest, you're really quite lucky to be dead. If you weren't, and we had met, I'm sure I'd have hexed you. You'd probably be insulted, but it's just the truth, and I am known for being blunt. If I'd seen you—alive—I'd have Bat-Bogey'ed you for what you did to Harry, Statute of Secrecy be damned. He would be embarrassed and probably help you, which would really be just like him. As it is, now you have the right to at least a bit of respect, as all the dead do, even though I really don't believe that should apply to _all_ the dead.

Take Albus Dumbledore, for one thing. If he'd lived I'm sure Harry wouldn't feel that easy talking to him, since the man basically made him get himself killed, but he's dead, so of _course_ even Harry respects him. That happened with Snape too, you know him? Evil, bullying git. Git who gave a whole lot for our side, but still a git. But then he died, so—poof! Suddenly he's a hero, Order of Merlin first class and all that rubbish, once the truth came out. It's just absurd.

You, though—not even Harry would think _you_ a hero. Well, hopefully. He sees too much of the best in people, Harry does. But I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any illusions about _you_.

Then again, I _am_ aware I don't know that much, and Harry's only seen you at your worst each time, so who knows. Dudley turned out alright, after all (though I'm not sure if that was really your doing and not just his own). Petunia didn't immediately throw a restraining order on us, either.

Harry regrets you, you know. He's not grieving over you, not truly; he just regrets you. A lot. He believes that you were only trying to protect your family, your reputation. Harry thinks he was just your family's disgusting secret, this runty little thing who didn't belong in your world. He got in the way. You got on the defense. That was all. A really bitter end, but nothing new. Life's just like that and all.

And maybe he's right, but still, it doesn't change what you did to your own _nephew_. He—Harry—doesn't show it, but I think he wonders, sometimes, what would've happened if you'd treated him properly. If his magic wasn't an issue.

Like I said, he regrets you.

(I personally don't want to go the said topic, since, if you'd cared for him, he probably wouldn't have been so close to us Weasleys, having already found a family with _you_—and so we might not have fallen in love together. Selfish? Very. But I like him right where he is, thank you very much—that is to say, with me.)

I'm not going to lie and say I do respect you, now that you're dead, though. I don't. Just because I can't curse you doesn't mean I don't hate you. I do hate you, no denying that. Better to say that you hate someone than run a fake show. I hate you. I hate you for what you did to Harry... I hate you for screwing up as his uncle.

He's brilliant, okay? I think you need to know that. He's brilliant, and I love him, and we're going to be married in three months. He's saved lives—including yours—and he actually plays that down! He cares so much for me, and my family, and Hermione, and he doesn't even realize exactly how much we care for him. He's an incredible person, and... and you could've had that. You could've had a nephew like that, but you threw him away instead, locked him up, tried to stamp out his magic. Hated him.

Just because he wasn't '_normal'_. Does that really matter? Harry said you just wanted your peace, away from the Wizarding World, away from our war, keep your family safe because magic is so dangerous, but that's a lie. I can tell. You and your wife hated _magic_, not the magical _world_. And even your wife only hates it because she didn't have it, and her sister did. But you—why? Just because your wife told you so? I doubt that. Sometimes I wonder if you ever understood it yourself, or if you just pushed your only nephew away without a reason.

And so, in the end, you never knew what you were missing, did you.

Don't you get tired of normal?

Even the way you _died_ was normal. Heart attack, and then a stroke—it's almost impressive. So simple.

I mean, God—he actually came, you know? You made him sleep ten years in a cupboard and six summers in a room with padlocks on its door and bars on its window, and in the end he attends your funeral, right in the middle of preparing for our wedding, saying he was sorry he didn't try to understand you better.

And no, I don't even care about the wedding preparations, really. I don't blame him for coming here when we could be at the flat. It's such a Harry thing to do. He's the kind of person who'd give his parents' _murderer_ a chance to start again. He did, actually. Stupid, selfless git. And now he's trying to make peace with you, even if it's too late and you're dead, even after the first decade of his life, which I'm almost certain was an experience vaguely reminiscent of hell. But oddly enough, even _that_ doesn't matter now. What matters is—

Are _you_ going to make peace with _him_, Vernon?

"Ginny?"

I—oh. Harry. Are you okay?

"I'm fine, love."

Sixteen years of solid dislike, Harry had told me once, and even just that took me so long to get out of him. Took me _so long_ to get him to trust.

"I think we should get going. Give Dud some space."

Sure. Is Dudley alright? What about Petunia?

"Dudley says he'll be fine, and I trust him to be if he says he'll be. Obviously I didn't even try to talk to Marge. Aunt Petunia... she'll be alright. She has Dudley. She says thanks for coming to us... I'm... somewhat glad you came with me too, actually."

You know it isn't a problem, Harry. Shall we go?

His smile is quiet and subdued, and yet it's still the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. Have you ever seen him smile, Vernon? It's blinding, but I think you were too preoccupied with making him miserable to ever glimpse it.

(Yes, I do know that this is the most disrespectful thing by far—thinking about how much I love Harry at your funeral, thinking about his smile, et cetera—so I guess I'm sorry. Really. Just for that, though. Not for anything else.)

"Let's go, Gin."

I'm sorry for you, Vernon Dursley.

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**AN:** _Ugh, this one really didn't work out the way I wanted it to. Should Ginny be more sarcastic or what? I feel like something is severely missing here. Damn. Monologues are _hard_, like hell. Ah well. Trying desperately to focus on my multichap story, but my muse kept forcing me into the oneshot folder...__  
_


End file.
